


Soft Shock

by beckett77



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, Incest, M/M, as much as incest slash can be, god do i love this show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckett77/pseuds/beckett77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t like Richie’s playing out some long-buried fantasy right now. This is supposed to send Seth reeling out the door, with his world topsy-turvy. Instead, Seth licks the roof of Richie’s mouth, worms a hand up the back of his shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I imagine that this takes place sometime before they get to the Titty Twister. (At least that's when I started writing it... I am slow).
> 
> This show is going to be the death of me. I can already tell.

Richie never knew it would be like this. Turns out it’s one of those things where you’re in way-the-fuck-deep before you even knew you decided to go for it. Like maybe how falling in love is. At least that’s what everyone from Austen to who-the-fuck-knows says about love. But this isn’t exactly Austen. It’s not even Kafka. Kafka would be a fucking break right about now. It’s an angry goddess living in his goddamn head. And it isn’t that she says she’s angry, but she sure does insist on a shit ton of blood.

“Richie,” Seth says, snaps his fingers right under his brother’s nose. “Richie, what the fuck? You with me?”

Seth’s fingers have thick calluses. His nail beds are dry, cracked a little at the edges. The goddess breathes a laugh, and there are little eyes staring back at Richie, one in the pad of each of Seth’s upturned fingers. They roll and roll and cry tiny tracks of blood. Richie seizes his brother’s hands. The eyes move against Richie’s skin. His stomach lurches at the looping rub.

Seth keeps his hands loose, lets Richie press his captured palms against his chest, lets Richie cover his brother’s hands with his own freckled ones. Richie can’t feel the eyes as much through his suit. 

Seth steps closer, which should really be impossible considering that they’re already crammed into the RV’s coffin-sized bathroom. “What?”

Richie keeps his eyes on the door. If he doesn’t look, he doesn’t have to see what the goddess’ll do to Seth’s face.

But Seth’s not having any of it. He snatches back one of his hands, puts it to Richie’s cheek. Richie tries to tell himself that the eyes are not there, are not weeping a warm trail to puddle at his collar. Seth tilts his brother’s head down, forces Richie to look at him. 

Seth’s face is not his own. It is their father’s, with a little bit of what Richie imagines their mother looked like thrown in. He looks like everyone Richie has ever hated, everyone he’s ever killed, all mixed in together. He doesn’t have any eyes. Just empty fucking sockets. Richie can see the inside of his brother’s head through them. It’s like a poorly done Jack-o-Lantern back there, bits of pulp-like meat hanging in goopy strings.

“See,” the goddess hisses, “rotten. No good. You’re better without him.” Her face flashes over Seth’s. She smiles, mouth beautiful and red. “See.”

The goddess never tells Richie what to do exactly, but he usually understands. He’s usually willing to go along. The sense of overwhelming purpose starts to well in his joints, to flood and waterfall down his vertebrae. Why can’t they all just understand? All Richie wants is to see.

“Hey,” Seth says, “hey. I know I yelled at you for freaking out on the girl, but, buddy, you have to chill. What is going on with you?”

The purpose ebbs a little. Enough so that he can breathe. Richie closes his eyes. Kate. The girl. The girl does not know that she is surrounded by demons. She sides with them and does not realize. “Stupid,” Richie says. “Cowering among the slain when she is a slayer.”

Seth circles his thumb on Richie’s jaw. “Yeah, okay. But remember, Scott’s her brother. She’s always gonna be on his team.”

The goddess screams. “He would protect those who would kill us. Do not be misled.” She presses against Richie’s mind. “Look.”

Richie’s eyes fly open. Seth’s face is the hateful mask from before, but now he is dark, sloughing shadows into the bathroom like too-tight skin. The purpose swells within Richie, takes up all of the spaces around his organs, reshapes them if they get in the way. To kill Seth now. It would be right. It would be merciful.

Richie’s hands are around his brother’s neck. His fingers convulse. It would only be the right thing. 

Seth drops his hand, brings it back up to slam against Richie’s temple. “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is wheezy.

Richie’s ears are ringing. The goddess’ voice hisses, but distantly. The awful sense of compulsion is still bronzing his insides, threatening to surge out of his skin in shining, slippery spikes, but the glamour around his brother has receded. Richie breathes as deep as he dares. He has to shake off the rest of the goddess’ will or he thinks he’ll die. The urge has to go somewhere. He’ll have to kill the demon pastor and boy outside.

“I’m fine. Let me go,” Richie says, tries not to sound mechanical.

“No.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Fuck you, man.” Seth’s got a tight hold on Richie’s lapels now.

Richie can’t fight with his brother. He’ll kill him. That, he doesn’t want. Not when there are perfectly legit demons right goddamn outside.

But of course Seth swings on him anyway. Because that’s exactly the kind of asshole he is. Richie tries to save his life, concentrates on not killing him, and Seth has to go and start exactly what he shouldn’t. It’s not a clean or coordinated fight. The space is too small. The pressure inside of Richie steadily increases. Finally, Richie manages to turn them. Now Seth’s the one with his back up against the wall, toilet digging into the side of his leg. 

As soon as Richie can get his prison-jacked brother to let go of him, he has a clear shot at the door. The goddess whispers inside his head, “Hit him.” Golden light outlines a small spot near Seth’s jaw. “Free him.”

Richie rears back. It’s a compulsion. But he’s more lucid this time. It’s Seth. He can’t kill him. Richie spins through it all in his head. And then he has it. Like falling in love. He has to laugh. When he brings his face to his brother’s, he isn’t exactly gentle, but he manages to not break anything. “But you’re probably going to wish I had,” Richie says.

“What?” Seth pants.

He can’t say anything else because Richie is kissing him. Deep and thorough and terrible. Richie’s insides start to liquefy again, and he misses the solid weight of the purpose’s pressure. The liquid seems different, darker. It does not have the same clarity of intent. It streams through him, pushes out where his mouth presses desperately at his brother’s. Richie’s pleased that at least they’re both going to drown.

Seth’s arms release Richie, like he’s finally going to get around to pushing him away. But then they’re back, only this time one clutches at Richie’s neck and the other presses against the small of his back. Neither arm pushes away or lets go. And Seth kisses him.

Richie makes an embarrassing, un-Bronson noise in his throat. This, this kissing back? He is not ready for it. He doesn’t want to kill Seth, but he does want to punish him. For his condescension, for Vanessa, for his treachery. It isn’t like Richie’s playing out some long-buried fantasy right now. This is supposed to send Seth reeling out the door, alive, but with his world topsy-turvy.

Instead Seth licks the roof of Richie’s mouth, worms a hand up the back of his shirt. He’s hard against Richie’s hip, and not really being a gentleman about it, insistently shifting. Richie ignores the drowning, stops thinking about himself for a second, opens his eyes.

He sees. Seth’s eyes are closed, but Richie sees. Seth’s face gives it all away, lit up and a touch tremulous, like he’s looking at a real deal, hand-pattied burger or Richie after they finish a fast, clean job. The goddess flashes her triumphant face at Richie again.

And Richie gets it. He gets it and he gets it and he gets it. Suddenly his whole fucking life transforms into this long, awful hall where every memory, every room screams at him, “He’s in love with you.” The screams echo and roar, rise and converge into a shrieking cacophony. Richie almost wishes that he had killed Seth. Almost. 

Richie has to laugh. He’s being possessed by some sort of vengeful deity. Seth though, Seth has no excuse. It’s a heady feeling. Richie’s always hungry for power. He kisses Seth in earnest. Uses his leverage to really crowd him into the wall. Snatches Seth’s tie, chokes him just the slightest bit.

Seth pulls his mouth away, and gasps for breath. His eyes are glazed. He latches to Richie’s ear, swirls his tongue on the lobe. Seth outlines the rim of his brother's ear in sharp bites. The goddess’ liquid will sloshes inside of Richie in sloppy tides. Richie sucks in a heavy breath. “Do it now. Please.”

The barrage of mouth-and-tongue moves to Richie’s neck, and Seth undoes his brother’s belt buckle. Seth pulls away to swipe a slick strip of saliva down his palm. He unfastens Richie’s pants, slides his rough, square hand inside. Richie’s too opportunistic, too mercenary by nature to really care at this point that it’s his brother doing the touching. 

In a way, he thinks, the best option for him _is_ Seth. Then Seth twists his fingers just so. Richie groans, and Seth whispers, “Shhh,” into his collar bone, scratches a soothing circle on his back. Richie reconsiders. Seth might be the most dangerous option for him. No one else on Earth loves Richie.

It’s the reverse that worries Richie more; there’s no one Richie loves besides Seth. Richie crams his head into the curve between Seth’s neck and hunched shoulder. He watches his brother’s hand move on him. It’s like he’s two separate people. One writhing under Seth’s ministrations and one watching it all happen in crisp celluloid. 

Richie closes his eyes. He’s still two selves, maybe three if he counts the goddess, but at least with his eyes closed, he can touch Seth too. He feels for his brother’s pants, carefully traces the outline of him through the fabric. Hardly any contact and already Seth’s hand loses its steady rhythm. Richie smiles, bites into Seth’s shoulder hard enough to be felt through the suit. Oh, this can be a competition like anything else.

Seth's got more experience and a head start. Richie, though, cracks safes. His fingers are cleverer, more sensitive. He listens to his brother’s breathing, twists his hands until all the tumblers click just so. Richie knows, just knows, that his brother is going to fucking lose it in a second, and Richie’s man enough to admit he’s smug about it. 

But Seth surprises him, wraps his hand over Richie’s and brings both of them together into his strong grip. The sensation of familiarly unfamiliar skin against him yanks Richie right over the edge along with his brother. What remains of the goddesses' invasive will leaks away.

Since there are no photos of the finish, Richie has to admit a tie. “Bastard,” he breathes into Seth’s neck.

Seth laughs. “Don’t worry, grasshopper. You have time to learn.”

Richie can tell when Seth’s own words dawn on him. The loose set of his shoulders bunches right back up. He tries to stand straight. “C’mon,” Seth says. “We can’t stay in here forever.”

It’s true; the girl is banging on the door, braver than her father and brother put together. “Are you two killing each other? Because we will not help you hide any bodies.”

“You’ll damn well do what I say,” Seth yells. Richie admires how stone-cold criminal he can sound while he’s still hanging out, pants undone.

Richie frames Seth’s face in his hands. He leans down and brings their lips lightly together. It’s a phantom of a kiss. Seth parts his lips. Now it’s just the two of them breathing, make-out heavy breaths swirling from one mouth to the other.

“We’re going to get to El Rey,” Seth says directly into Richie’s mouth. The words crawl right down into his heart, spreading a warmth that he knows the goddess will steal when she reemerges.

“You’ll figure it out,” Richie says. Richie thinks that for once, he means it.


End file.
